Sophomoric (12 page)

Nicky wasn’t smiling when they came back. Amie was, though, rubbing Nicky’s shoulder as they kept walking back to their towels. “See?” she murmured. “See, everything’s fine. You’re okay.”

“Negative.” Cleo came up next to me, pulling out yet another cigarette. “Thank God. She’s still flipped out. Come on.” She picked up a second Diet Coke, the blunt and a crude aluminum ashtray. “I need this.”

A few steps later, we were sitting in the grass across the pool from Amie and Nicky. With a casual thumb movement and the click of the lighter, orange flame sprang up in Cleo’s hand and, holding the blunt in her mouth, she patiently inhaled until orange glowed among the weed inside. Twice, she breathed in, letting the smoke escape her mouth in an opaque cloud, seeping through lips curved in a contented smile. Her head tilted back, hair grazing the ground, eyes closed. Teachers had always said my curiosity was the best thing I brought to a classroom. I wondered what they would say if they saw that trait in this particular incarnation. After a minute, she opened her eyes and held her hand out. I took the blunt carefully in the same thumb and first finger grip I had seen her use. Frowning, she flicked the lighter again, holding it to the end.

“Breathe in.”

I took a deep breath and fit my lips around the brown paper. And I breathed.

I was really off balance. Or maybe it was everything else that was off balance and I was in balance. And that made no sense. And the pieces of the world were fitting together in a completely unfamiliar way and I kind of liked it, tilting my head to consider that possibility and then bringing it back to center because I think I was probably stoned.

I giggled, leaning my heavy head slowly back in the grass, ignoring my turning stomach.

“Babe, we should go in.” Cleo took another hit. I held out my hand for the blunt, which we’d smoked nearly to the end. I had no idea how much of that had gone into my lungs. Probably too much.

“I don’t think I can get up.” I put my lips around the dry paper of the blunt.

“Breathe in deeper.” Cleo’s voice was slow, almost sleepy. “More into your lungs.”

Just like I had all afternoon, I did what she told me to do. As I pulled my lips away and breathed in air, smoke trickled down the back of my throat.

Shit, it burned. I started coughing for the first time, each time feeling like I was ripping Band-Aids off the inside of my ribcage. Please don’t let me throw up.

“You okay?” Cleo reached out and took the blunt.

Cough. “Yeah.” Cough. “Think I swallowed.”

“Never swallow.” I hadn’t even noticed Amie walking over until she spoke. “And now you know why I don’t smoke. Come on.” She reached out for my hand. I could see Nicky, hovering over her shoulder.

“You just pussied out after the first time,” Cleo accused. She had a Diet Coke in her hand now. Amie just shrugged.

I had more important things to worry about. One finger stretched out to point at Nicky. “There’s two of you!”

Amie looked at me funny. “Cleo, you’re sure this is just pot?”

“No, I don’t see two,” I explained patiently. “But like…there is two. Like one is her and one’s like…not. It’s like a ghost. Or something.” It was hard to concentrate with my stomach twisting around itself, and the raw lining of my throat burning.

“Positive.” Cleo took a long swallow and leaned back on her elbows. “Chill.”

“Yeah.” I grinned, knowing in the back of my mind and not caring that it was wide and sloppy. “I’m awesome.”

Amie just shook her head. “You’re stoned. Congratulations, Cleo, you’ve done it again.”

“It gets better from here.” Cleo slowly pushed herself to her feet, pausing for a while on her knees. “Damn, I want food. Evan better have gotten M&Ms for me.”

The thought of chocolate made my stomach twist again. I took Amie’s hand carefully, slowly, making sure it really was her hand I was reaching for. My free fingers rose to my face at the odd need to make sure it was still there.

Never mind. I’m never smoking this again.

Slowly, stumbling worse than a drunk as the world reshuffled, I followed Cleo into the kitchen, where she grabbed a movie-size bag of M&Ms, a bag of cheesy popcorn and two more Diet Cokes, and then down into the basement. Two futons, a couch and a recliner crowded around the flat screen looked like heaven and, thankfully, one of the futons was only a handful of steps away from the stairs. Lying down had never felt so good.

My eyelids drifted shut and then the rest of me just drifted, barely anchored by the solid cushion beneath me. I heard someone turning on a movie, one I had seen before. With its usual quota of energy diverted to ensure that my face stayed in place, my mind took off. From the intermittent images between the slow, heavy, vertical movement of my eyelids I couldn’t tell what I saw then and what was just memory. Just before I fell asleep, I heard voices echoing down the stairs. At that point, I didn’t even care. And that was amazing.

The first thing I saw when I woke up was the empty bag of popcorn on the floor, inches below my face. The second was the hand resting on my stomach. I slowly scooted onto my back, brain still very, very fuzzy. My dry mouth tasted like ash and stale smoke and a different kind of fuzz. Blinking a few times, I looked up into a pair of familiar but unexpected eyes.

“You were giggling in your sleep,” Dev informed me.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Truly, I was curious. The boy was freaking impossible: sweet to horny to asshole to adorable in 2.5. Christ.

“Sleeping.” He grinned, as utterly unashamed as ever. “Long drive.”

I shook my head. The world seemed too intangible and indistinct to be angry. Besides, why be angry when you can just sleep? Slowly, glad that my stomach had settled while I slept, I scooted back to my side. His arm pulled my waist until my body followed the same curving, question mark lines as his, pressed against him. He was warm and the worn sweatshirt under my head, which smelled like his cologne, was softer than the scratchy synthetic mattress of the futon. A pair of lips might have pressed a soft kiss to the side of my neck. But that might just have been wishful thinking.

Waking up the second time wasn’t quite as fun. The popcorn bag was still there. The hand was not. If, really, it had ever been there at all. The clock on my cell phone told me it was almost ten p.m. I had been out for a while. Slowly, I dragged myself up off the futon, running my fingers through my hair and straightening my shirt in a doomed attempt to look good. Leaning on the railing, I walked up the stairs, fighting a strong desire to turn around and sleep all weekend.

Alec and Scott were alone in the kitchen, Scott looking about as happy as he ever did lately. His disinclination to suck it up and admit he’d screwed up was really a problem for him.

“Sleep well, Bizza?” Alec took a sip out of the beer can in his right hand.

“Mhmm.” My shoulders slid easily under the arm he had held out. “Where’s everybody?”

“Amie and Nicky are in the hot tub.” Alec answered my question while Scott stared sullenly into space and took long angry gulps of beer. “Dev’s upstairs. Cleo’s asleep in her room.”

My mind went straight to the part where Dev and Cleo were upstairs. Together. I had no reason to think Cleo would. But she was high. She also didn’t know how much I liked Dev. Not that I did. I just had a prior claim.

Yeah. I couldn’t even fool myself at this point. And I really didn’t want to think about this anymore. I looked up at Alec. “Where’d you get the beer?”

Turned out, Alec knew the location not only of the beer, but of the whole bar. Scott did two shots of vodka before I’d even poured my first. He grabbed another can of beer and left the room, saying only that he’d be in the basement.

“What’s wrong with him?” I watched a shot slide down Alec’s throat, past his Adam’s apple, before taking the vodka bottle from him. Pouring some into the stereotypical red Dixie cup, I screwed the top back on and reached for a can of Diet Coke. It was probably too much, but I really didn’t care. Maybe if I was drunk, and Dev was drunk, things could happen for which I would not be culpable. If he wasn’t already with Cleo. I didn’t, couldn’t, even think about that.

“He’s stressed.” Alec grabbed another beer, leaving his empty can on the counter. “Come on.”

Guys and their macho bullshit: don’t show emotion, tackle people instead. It was almost funny, except that this was Nicky he was hurting. Which made it a lot less funny. All the more reason to start drinking.

Alec’s arm went back around my shoulders as we walked down to the basement. I let the Diet Coke soothe my dry throat and mouth, washing away the taste of stale smoke, only to feel the vodka slide down and burn all over again. We drank and smoked the rest of the pack Cleo had left in the basement, and drank a little more, not talking very much.

By the time Dev and Cleo came downstairs together, I thought I would be past the point of caring. Too bad I was wrong. Looking at him through the haze of smoke polluting the basement air, I wanted him. I wanted him a lot.

Cleo took a cigarette out of a new pack next to me on the floor and dropped on the sofa with Alec. Watching Dev sit and put an arm over the sofa behind her shoulders hurt. Reaching up, I took Alec’s beer from his unresisting hand and gulped too much of it down, leaning my head against the inside of his knee. Cleo took a drag on her cigarette, then passed it to Dev. The tip flared as he inhaled, his lips where Cleo’s had been a moment before. I scooted closer to Alec.

Maybe I should have remembered that his girlfriend was somewhere upstairs. But it wasn’t like we were actually doing anything.

Dev had passed the cigarette back to Cleo, who passed it on to me. I inhaled, the cigarette smoke thinner and sharper and acrid after the sweet, heavy pot. My lips were where both of theirs had been. But I couldn’t think about it.

“I’m bored.” Cleo smiled that slow Cheshire smirk. Let’s play a game.”

She brought the green glass bottle of tequila in her hand to her mouth and threw back her head, hair flying, eyes closed to take the shot. Every guy in the room was watching as she opened her eyes and passed the bottle to Dev. My mom wouldn’t even let me drink orange juice from the carton and hated double dipping in ketchup. Then again, we’d all shared more saliva than my mom and I ever had. I watched Dev’s throat move as he tipped his head back.

“Truth or Dare?” Alec grinned.

“No, we played that last week.” Dev played with the ends of Cleo’s hair.

Cleo shook her head, hair coiling, tangling around his fingers. “I was thinking strip poker.”

I had no idea how to play poker. Alec thought that was hilarious and offered to be on my team. I just hoped he was good at poker. Otherwise, I’d be naked fast. We formed a loose circle on the floor. Alec’s head rested in my lap, holding up our cards so we could both see them. Dev kept trying to lean over Cleo’s shoulder to see her hand.

Turned out, we were all really bad at poker except Scott. In no time, clothes were strewn all over the basement, and I was thinking way too hard about tightening my abs to flatten my stomach. At least I still had my shorts. Cleo was lounging, completely relaxed, in black boy shorts and a leopard-print bra. It was hard not to be jealous that none of the guys could take their eyes off her flat stomach and long legs. Although, as a completely straight, heterosexual, interested-in-doing-boys girl, she did look like some fascinating hybrid of
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit edition, enemy agent Bond girl and Marilyn Monroe’s flyaway skirt. She knew it, too.

The guys distracted me away from awkward stares and awkward questions. I’d seen Dev in his boxers before, but I hadn’t remembered that Alec had a lean swimmer’s body. Even Scott shirtless wasn’t bad. I was probably staring awkwardly at them instead.

Vodka
culpa
?

Alec and I switched places after we’d lost our shirts, so my head was in his boxer-clad lap and I was holding the cards. He leaned down to look at them, and I giggled as his alcohol-and-smoke-heavy breath hit my face. Reaching up, I stole the cigarette he had between his lips and took a drag, before giving it back.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Cleo’s laughter died and the look on Scott’s face got darker, if that was even possible. Alec and I froze, our faces suddenly much too close after the sound of Amie’s voice. “You bitch.”

Alec stood up so suddenly, my head hit the floor. “Amie, it’s not…”

“What it looks like?” She laughed. “Original.” I sat up in time to see her walk back upstairs. Alec hurried after her in his plaid Ralph Lauren boxers, stumbling over his feet as he climbed the steps. The lit cigarette fell to floor, the orange tip flaring as ashes fell on the floor. Nicky’s face watched the two of them go upstairs, silent. Then her eyes settled on Scott, finding him unerringly through the dark haze. “I should go after her,” she offered. Her gaze never wavered.

His voice was quiet. “Stay.” She was already walking when he spoke. My head fell back with a soft bump against the floor as they moved toward each other. Finally. Fixed. Who cared if Scott was drunk. They followed Alec and Amie upstairs. Now there was breakup and makeup sex going on two floors above my head.

And Dev and Cleo were sitting across from me half-naked in the dim basement. I needed more vodka. Pushing myself to my feet, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other all the way to the stairs. All I needed to do now was fall on my ass in front of both of them. At the rate this weekend was going, I’d break something.

“Where you going, Biz?” Cleo leaned back on her elbows, her body all lines that curved only where they were supposed to. It took me a long time to realize that I just never saw her flaws. But I didn’t know it then, and it made me want to pull a blanket over my exposed skin. I pointed at the empty cup in my hand.

Dev’s low laugh vibrated through my body from all the way across the room. “Bad idea. Come ’ere.” He held out one arm. I stopped at the bottom of the staircase, thinking. Sort of. As much as possible.

“’M tired.” Cleo stretched, hands over her head. Dev’s eyes moved from me to her and back. I couldn’t blame him. There was really no comparison. “I call the couch.”